


Η ΤΑΝ Η ΕΠΙ ΤΑΣ (or, song of the battle unsung)

by onlybylaura



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, angsty i guess, does putting on armor count as foreplay because i sure do, pre battle oneshot, prompted by the idea that it's rey who puts the mask on him before they go destroy stuff, the literature graduate is back at it again with her goddamn fanfic titles in fucking greek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 14:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlybylaura/pseuds/onlybylaura
Summary: Come back with your shield — or on it.





	Η ΤΑΝ Η ΕΠΙ ΤΑΣ (or, song of the battle unsung)

Rey doesn’t think to wear armor. Her armor is her own skin, the flesh made hard by the desert sun, the dots and freckles that cover her shoulders and cheeks, and it allows no breach. Everyone says they know her, but they only see that armor—the wide brown eyes, the hair pulled back tight, and only what she allows them to see. Her armor protects her. It keeps her safe. It keeps her unknown.

She grips the lightsaber in her hands, and it’s all she needs. The remains of the Death Star are a witness to her preparation, the way she flicks her wrist in anticipation, the way she connects to the Force of long ago, still lingering, still lingering, still lingering.

“Are you ready?”

She turns, watching the dark figure that clearly belongs here more than she does. Or maybe they both do. She’d grown up in the remains of the empire’s ashes, it’s only fitting that she’ll die there. His shoulders are hunched, his clothes full of soot. It’s only a pause between what’s to come now, the inevitable, what they always knew they would face.

Rey doesn’t know when she began to think of it as something that belongs to them both. Maybe it had always been like that. Her, alone in the grindings of the carcasses of the fleet, him in the bowels and debris of destroyers. Both, walking alone, until they weren’t. Until there was this between them, the connection, alive like nothing she’d ever felt.

She’d never needed armor, but from him, he wished she did. He’d seen through all of it.

_People keep telling me they know me. No one does._

_But I do._

Rey can’t find the words, so she only nods. The words catch at the end of her throat, realizing what they’re about to do, what they’re about to face. Palpatine. The Emperor of Old. She’d grown up hearing the stories, hearing all of it, dreaming of them like they were her childhood friends, hoping they’d keep her alive, telling them to herself over and over again, because she’d needed those heroes.

Now she was all that was left. Her and Ben. They’d have to be enough. 

Ben squares his shoulders, raising himself to his full height, towering over her. He keeps his distance, though, both of them scared of what will happen if they get to close. Of the energy that binds them together. She had tried running away from it, but it was running away from the Force. She’d never found her true place, except here. Except in this now.

Fighting for survival is something she’d always understood.

“If we do this…” Ben starts.

“There’s no if,” she interrupts, and her voice is harder than she intended. “Don’t convince me to stay back. Don’t—”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Rey breathes, relaxes her shoulders. He wouldn’t try to dissuade her. They both knew each other well enough. They’d do it together, or not at all, just like in the red room. In that one moment where all things seemed to align, where they stood close, back to back, on the same side. It’d only lasted a moment. And now. And now.

She didn’t think of the future, it was no use. They were going to do this, to save the galaxy, to fight no matter what happened. No matter what, Rey was going to stand.

She picks up the helmet he’d left among the debris of the Death Star, tracing the red lines with her fingers. They were much like the cracked lines of her lightsaber, the ones she’d hid so no one could see them. So no one could read that the cracks were in her, too.

Ben showed the cracks in red almost like he was proud of them. Rey understands it now. It wasn’t about going back to the beginning, to the same thing they had before. It was fixing things. It was acknowledging the past. It was learning to love those cracks for what they were, and trying to salvage and move from there. She was a scavenger. She should have known this from the beginning.

Rey offers him the helmet, and Ben frowns, his eyes lost for a moment.

“You’re not wearing it?” She asks.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s need for it anymore,” he replies.

She grips the edges of the helmet tighter. She’d seen it in her nightmares of long ago. It was how they first had met. When they hadn’t shared anything. When they were enemies standing in opposing sides of the battlefield, the stars and planets separating them and hundreds of years of enmity in between.

“It’s your armor,” Rey finally says. “You should wear it.”

“You’re not wearing any.”

“It’s different.”

He doesn’t argue. He knows it’s different. He steps closer to her, his hand stretching for the helmet. Instead, Rey holds on to it, and Ben hesitates. His eyes re fixed on hers, and she doesn’t avoid them. One year later and the scar had almost faded into nothing, his face intact. But she could still see it there, like the crack in her sword, like the wisps in the helmet. Healed, but not forgotten.

She stretches the helmet in his direction, and Ben kneels in front of her. She holds on, her face impassive, as she slides the helmet in place, taking one last look at his face. Her hands brush the side of his jaw, and it’s the first time they touch since they fought together. It still feels like touching a live wire, like her whole body is about to come undone.

The Force is still all around them, strong, lingering, vigilant.

_Come back_, are the words that die in her throat. _Whatever we do, whatever we fight, it’s not over yet. Come back. _

_We still have so much to live, it’s not worth dying for it. _

Ben gets up, and she looks into those dark holes of his mask. She’s glad she can’t see him, too afraid that his face would mirror her own. Fear, but not only for herself. Fear of what it all meant if they survived it. If she could live through. If she could forgive. If she could move on.

“Ready?” He asks again, his voice distorted by the mask.

This time, she answers.

“Yes.”


End file.
